


Birthday

by dogandmonkeyshow



Series: Watson's Woes JWP 2017 fics [12]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 12:04:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11577723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogandmonkeyshow/pseuds/dogandmonkeyshow
Summary: Sherlock fails to consult John on his gift for Rosie's second birthday.





	Birthday

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Watson's Woes DW comm's July Writing Prompts daily challenge, prompt #13: [Picture prompt](http://watsons-woes.dreamwidth.org/1669662.html?style=mine).

A movement on the edge of his vision caught John's attention. “Er, Sherlock. Your coat's—alive.”

As a faintly guilty expression appeared on his face, Sherlock absently patted the outer pockets. “Yes, well—yes, I—um—”

Instantly on alert at Sherlock's uncharacteristic abashed tones and fumbling, John asked a wary, “Okay?”

“Yes, of course. Fine.” Sherlock was fishing in his pockets, one hand in each and for a few seconds it was as if the coat was trying to eat his hands as he struggled to extract them. “I did wonder—seeing as Rosie's birthday is coming up—”

“Uh huh.”

“—whether she might like one of these.” Sherlock finally managed to disentangle himself with a move that looked like he was trying to dislocate his elbows simultaneously. The former wriggling was explained by the small puppy he held out in each hand.

John pointed. “How long have you had those in there?”

“You're a vet, now?”

“Uh, _no_.”

“Don't worry; the woman at the shop said they're housebroken.”

“Coatbroken?”

“Hmm, good point.” Sherlock handed the brown one to John so that he could pull the sides of his coat up for a quick sniff test, right side, then left. “Seems okay.”

John looked at the palm-sized bundle in his hand. It looked back and yawned; it was one of those breeds with bugged-out eyes and John felt like there was a hint of disdain in its expression as it looked up at him. He resisted the urge to remind it that he wasn't the person who'd been carrying it around in a coat pocket for hours. But he'd always thought that people who talked to dogs as if they could understand English were cracked, so he kept his mouth shut as he handed it back to Sherlock.

“What? You like the white one better?” Sherlock asked, hefting the other tiny puppy as if he were a street hawker trying to make a sale at the end of the day.

“No, not exactly.” John racked his brain for an excuse that wouldn't hurt Sherlock's feelings; he'd obviously given the matter of his gift some thought. Of course, Sherlock was always surprised and disappointed when his friends had different opinions than he did on matters he considered important, and as a dog-lover Sherlock just blithely assumed that everyone he knew was as well. 

“Um, I think two might be a little young for a dog. Even a little one,” John added when he saw what Sherlock's rebuttal would be. “You've seen what she does to her dolls.”

None of Rosie's dolls managed to retain all their appendages for more than a day, so John thought that would be the best bet to dissuade Sherlock that his plan might be anywhere in the same region as a good idea.

“Right. Good point.” Sherlock looked down at the two tiny furballs and John wondered if he could return them and get his money back.

“You could give them to someone else.”

Sherlock made a contemplative sound in the back of his nose that told John he was unconvinced.

“Maybe Molly? Oh, no, she has a cat, doesn't she?”

“Toby would eat them for breakfast,” Sherlock muttered as he continued to stare at the puppies, his frown of consternation widening as the seconds passed by.

“Greg likes dogs.”

“Can you see Greg with a dog like this?” Sherlock held out the brown one and John could see his point. Greg struck him as a big dog kind of guy.

“Mycroft?”

“Allergic. _Supposedly_.”

“Mrs Hudson might like one, maybe both.”

“Ah, yes. She had a Pomeranian when she lived in Florida.” Sherlock walked to the door and bellowed “MRS HUDSON!”

To John's surprise neither puppy batted an eye at the bellowing, which augured well if they were to have a future at 221 Baker Street.

“What?” he heard Mrs Hudson call back up the stairs.

“I have something for you,” Sherlock replied in somewhat more moderate tones.

“What?”

When Sherlock didn't answer, she climbed the stairs and a few seconds later appeared in the doorway. With her usual perspicacity, she immediately grasped the matter in hand. “I don't let my tenants have pets, Sherlock, you know I told you that when you first moved in.”

He strode over and practically tossed the puppies to her. “They're not mine. Happy birthday.”

“What? My birthday's not 'til June. Oh dear,” she said as she tried to hang onto the two dogs, who'd apparently decided they'd had enough of being on their best behaviour and were wriggling against her chest, where she clutched them in an attempt to prevent them from leaping to their deaths. Then she made a little giggle as one of the puppies tried to crawl up to her shoulder and proceeded to lick her chin. “What am I going to do with two dogs, Sherlock?”

“Feeding, walking. The usual.”

“I don't have time—”

“Look at them, they're miniscule. How much work can that small an amount of dog be?” 

John could tell she was pretty much already convinced. She gave Sherlock a shrewd look. “Don't think this means I'm letting you get one of your own.”

“What are you going to call them?” John asked.

She carefully picked each of them up and looked between their legs. “Both boys, I see.” She paused for a few seconds. “Teddy and George. My first two boyfriends,” she said with a wink to John. "They were both hounds, too."

“Okay, right, fine. You and Teddy and George can go now.” Sherlock chivvied her out of the flat and a few seconds later Mrs Hudson was downstairs with her two new best friends.

“No living gifts until she's at least six, okay?”

“No white mice, then?”

“No.”

“Turtle? Turtles are easy to—”

“No.”

“Budgie—”

“No.”

“Snake.”

“No.”

“Mongoose?”

John sighed. It was going to be a long day.


End file.
